


Postcards

by Resa_Saso



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: And a very poor bartender, Fluff, Humour, M/M, More Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 11:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19106641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resa_Saso/pseuds/Resa_Saso
Summary: Aziraphale misses Crowley, who has gone off to Alpha Centauri alone. Crowley attempts to send postcards, but the local picks aren't good enough.





	Postcards

„You know,” Aziraphale said, voice heavy and slurred from drinking, while his mind pretended that he was sounding perfectly sober. “Maybe I did make a mistake.”

The bar tender, who had understood something along the lines of “Blahblahblah, pay!” nodded eagerly, which seemed to throw his weird guest into a desperate fit of pulling at his white, shiny hair.

With a sigh the young man dropped the rag in his hands.

“Do you want another drink?”

The pub was long empty, everyone else had gone home, and here he stood, subtly trying to signal his clearly drunk, last guest that he was about to close by cleaning up the bar. He might as well could’ve taken a ball into his hand and waved it around excitedly while telling a dog that it wasn’t playtime now.

The angel’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, would you? That would be so kind!”

The bar tender imagined he had heard something along the lines of “Oh no, it’s really time” and stared at Aziraphale hopefully, who stared back just as hopefully, then grumbled.

Wishful thinking was something nobody was safe from, apparently.

With an annoyed sigh, he poured the angel in another drink.

“Shouldn’t have said no!” Aziraphale mumbled into his glass, taking another long sip of the drink he had long given up on identifying – Something fruity, and very tasty.

Crowley would like it.

Crowley wasn’t here.

Suddenly, he sobbed.

“No, but it was wrong! So wrong! Should’ve said no! No was good! Maybe should’ve said… should’ve said that I wanted him to stay. Should’ve said that?”

He looked at the bar tender, clearly waiting for an answer.

The bar tender however, having understood something along the lines of “Want to stay!” had enough now.

“Last call,” he grumbled, trying not to meet the clearly crying man’s eyes now. “Gotta close.”

Aziraphale, having come to the very recent conclusion that he should ask people to stay if he didn’t want them to leave, and hadn’t quite figured out how to handle this new enlightenment with his drunken mind, jumped to his feet.

“Oh no! Please don’t! Please stay! I don’t know what to do on my own!”

The bar tender, taking the man’s hastily getting up as a good sign and, being very sure he understood correctly, this time, having heard something along the lines of “I’ll find the way on my own!” nodded heavily.

And to his utter horror, Aziraphale stumbled right back onto his chair, continuing to drink and sob manically.

 

 

Crowley considered sending postcards.

Actually, he stood before the store for quite some time, considering the special offers of the day. They all showed some quarry-like desolation, of course, as this planet wasn’t exactly as progressive and civilized as Earth had been, called it a “Great spot for aspiring stone collectors and beach vacation without water and beach” and had photo-edited a few table tennis spots in.

In short – Aziraphale would not be impressed.

Well, that wouldn’t do, that wouldn’t do at all. Not impressing Aziraphale was _not_ Crowley’s style. And so, he decided to create his own, a little bit updated postcard for his angel friend.

It turned out to be harder than he had thought, though. Driving around with his Bentley, which he had re-miracled into being absolutely fit for trips through time and space, he was looking for a nice spot to take a picture in, that didn’t just include – Well, green globs, quarries and table tennis.

Satan, he hated this planet.

With a sigh, he gave up. Pulling his Bentley to a stop, humming along some Queen songs as he let the door falls shut behind him, he looked around.

Table tennis, green blobs with only one, huge, eye, more table tennis, no one a decent ice cream shop in sight. Or something to get drunk in. Or something to read books in.

Not that he particularly _liked_ books, it was just…

Just…

Aziraphale wasn’t here.

He sighed.

Fine. He was going to do this the other way then. The angel had never actually _been_ to Alpha Centauri. He had no idea this was a dull, empty planet full of green annoying people who kept on staring at him intensely – Which, he considered, was all they really _could_ do, with a huge eye as a face.

He was going to do what demons did best – He was going to cheat.

With a wide grin, he slipped back into his Bentley, happy to be escaping this planet, happy to be on the drive again, and mostly, happy to get rid of the Queen song that was currently stuck in his head and replacing it with another one.

 

Earth. Good old Earth.

It wouldn’t live long, now that Armageddon was inevitable, so he’d be able to just find a magical looking place with a lot of books for the background of his shot and make Aziraphale accordingly jealous and the angel would never be able to realize that this was actually an Earth location.

There were some he knew the angel hadn’t been yet. He had actually long planned to make a trip with him, an old school one, with music and cars and landslides passing by, but the M25 had constantly been closed and Aziraphale had constantly complained about his driving.

And the angel wouldn’t have just gone without him, would he?

 

The Bentley brought him to his destination rather quickly, and Crowley couldn’t help but notice how pointless books were without an angel around, admiring them with the softest of touches and happily excited eyes, treating them like the biggest miracle of human nature.

Honestly, it was as if all the bookstores, little antique shops and libraries completely lost their magic, their glimmer, just because Aziraphale wasn’t around.

He guessed that’s just what angels did.

Not that any other angel had ever made him feel this way.

So he took the photos, asked the people around him to pose with him, which ended mostly in them staring at him weirdly instead of looking like his new best friend – useless, honestly -, and then left again quickly, trying to fill the void in his heart with Bohemian Rhapsody.

It hadn’t been exactly the best plan he had ever had.

No, definitely, before he could return to that hell-forsaken shithole called Alpha Centauri, he was going to need a drink. A real drink. A last goodbye to humanity and their talent of brewing reasonably good alcoholic beverages was a sensible thing to do, wasn’t it?

He was in the mood for something fruity.

 

“We are closed!” the bartender shouted as soon as the door swung open, his nerves far more than a little bit worn out at this point, but something Aziraphale would be able to play rope skipping with, if he had wanted to.

“It’s open, though,” Crowley remarked. “Door swung open, bell and everything. And he’s still drinking.”

He frowned. Was he seeing Aziraphale everywhere now or…?

That’s when the angel turned around, a wide, bright grin on his… oh hell, he was drunk.

“Crowley!”

The demon scrunched his nose, giving it his best to look mildly annoyed to find his old friend here, instead of, well, manically, ridiculously happy, with happy flames bursting up inside of him like hell fire.

“Oh. Hello angel.”

That sounded bored, right? It better.

Aziraphale, who had already jumped off his seat and was about to drunkenly stumble towards him, stopped in his tracks, looking so taken aback and suddenly devastated, that it was enough to make Crowley feel immediately sorry.

Only this bloody idiot of an angel could make him develop something like a conscience. He so hated that about him.

He hated _everything_ about him.

But mostly, he hated how sad he looked.

“Having a good time, I see? Isn’t that a bit morally questionable?”

“Well,” Aziraphale muttered. “Yes. But you see, I was feeling… like I needed… and…”

Crowley shook his head in annoyance, glad that the dark sunglasses were shielding him from the angel’s sad puppy eyes searching for his in this moment.

“Oh, stop that. No one can understand a word you say. Sober up!”

The bar tender screamed when the empty bottles he was putting away - gingerly relieved that the angel’s attentions were _finally_ on someone else - suddenly refilled and let them fall to the ground with a shatter.

This was the moment he decided he had enough, threw away the apron and ran out of his own bar.

Crowley looked after him mildly impressed, while Aziraphale seemed somewhat embarrassed.

“Oh my, I may have taken it a bit too far with this poor fellow. Looking back, he must’ve been most confused.”

“What are you doing here anyway, sitting around early morning, getting drunk. Something wrong?”

He aimed for sounding casually curious, to the point where he laid just a hunch of seduction into his voice, mirroring perfectly the tone he usually did whenever he wanted to plant doubts into Aziraphale’s mind, but the angel didn’t seem to catch it _at all_ – He was far too busy with talking himself out of the situation.

“I was just… in the mood for a drink. And one thing led to another. And we got along so well… and anyway… anyway…”

His face lit up and Crowley could tell, with the perfect security only someone could have that knew his best friend for over 6000 years, that the rescuing thought had occurred to his celestial and only recently sobered up mind.

“What are _you_ doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be on… on Alpha Centauri?”

Crowley grinned.

“Well, you know. I was just in the mood for a drink. And one thing led to another. And we got along so well…”

He mimicked Aziraphale’s tone perfectly, the hasty panic speeding up the words until they came out in ragged breaths, and the angel’s face darkened considerably.

He so loved annoying that goody-good shoe, loved how expressive his face was, how he could immediately read all his successes just from the curve of his lips and the look of his eyes.

Hated.

He hated it.

Inside Crowley, there was a tiny, little demon with the voice of Freddie Mercury, rolling his inner demon eyes, while singing “Oh yes, I'm the great pretender!”

“Fine, don’t tell me then,” Aziraphale gave back, attempting to sounding unimpressed. “I don’t really care anyway. It’s time I went home.”

Crowley distinctly wondered if he was as easy to read for the angel as he was for him. Were they just somehow part of an unspoken agreement to not mention that they knew the other was lying out of respects for the quality and sake of the lies?

And if they were, were they gonna part ways again, knowing perfectly well that it was exactly what they didn’t want to, held apart by nothing but an unspoken agreement and their own pride?

And bloody hell, what was he a demon for, if not for the sake of breaking agreements of _any_ kind?

He stopped Aziraphale from passing him with one swift movement, grabbing his arm and holding him back, tearing off the sunglasses with his other hand, looking into his eyes intensely.

This was serious. They needed this to be serious.

“Why didn’t you come with me? Why do you keep on pretending we’re not friends? You’re my _best_ friend, angel.”

“I’m your only friend.” Aziraphale gave back, unusually snide. “Because you’re a demon. You don’t have friends and it sure as… as… as _hell_ can’t be me!”

“Why?” Crowley pleaded, sounding desperate now, but he didn’t care. If he was going to lose him, he at least wanted to understand. “What did I do? Because I’m a demon? It never bothered you before!”

“Of course, it bothered me before, don’t be ridiculous.” He pulled his arm free and began dusting off his coat where Crowley had grabbed him, looking rather darkly. “We’re natural enemies, you and me.”

“But we’re _not_! Come on, this is insane! Our sides are both going crazy over a war we don’t want to happen, they’re not our sides, they’ve not been in a long time, we’re our own side and you… I… I can’t lose you, Aziraphale.”

The angel’s face softened immediately, and Crowley let out a long sigh of relief, knowing that Aziraphale’s compassion was never far from his belief in the good inside of him. Why, he had no idea, but right now, he almost appreciated it.

“You’re not losing me.”

“How can you say that, when I have just spent three days on the dullest planet of all times without you, while you stay down here to witness the end of the Earth?”

“Well, for starters, I’m trying to prevent the end of the Earth, and while I realize you’re in a bit of trouble down here, I’d much appreciate it if you would help.”

“It’s a lost battle!” the demon shouted. “Game over!”

“It is only ever a lost battle, if every party of the game has given up.”

“Urgh,” Crowley made, unable to help himself. “You’re incorrigible. Is that what it takes, then? Only have to save Earth from the anti-Christ and two bloodthirsty sides of a celestial war, and you’ll be my friend again?”

“I…” Aziraphale hesitated. “I do not want to be your friend.”

That made Crowley really give up. His shoulders sunk down as he stared at the angel; face stunned into shocked silence.

“Oh,” he finally said. “Well. Then… sorry for bothering you, I s’ppose.”

He was about to turn away, walk out the door and never look back, his shaking hand already halfway at his face to put back the shielding sunglasses again, when Aziraphale’s gentle grip on his shoulder held him back.

“You’re so clever,” he whispered, making Crowley frown at his own words being used against him. “How can someone so clever be so stupid?”

Before the demon could react, soft lips touched his and Crowley ripped his eyes open in genuine surprise, about to back away from the angel instinctively, before he realized what was happening, gripping him and smashing him against the nearest wall, kissing him hard.

Oh, he thought and sank his hands into Aziraphale’s soft, white hair, pulling him closer, making it absolutely clear that he did not intend to let him go, ever, ever again, while his inner demon Mercury rocked on contently to Killer Queen.

Aziraphale struggled to break free of him and Crowley let him, eyeing him dazedly while trying to make sense of his own thoughts again and get them out of this blur of desire into here and now. He looked at him, expecting the rejection already, feeling the familiar, sinking feeling of it spreading slowly in his whole body, when the angel gave him an affectionate little, crooked smile.

“That okay for you?”

With an annoyed glare, Crowley pulled him closer again.

“Just shut up, just for once, and come back here.”

 

The next morning, the bar tender, somewhat reluctantly, returned to his own bar, in desperate hope that his overly-strained nerves had sent his mind into delirium, the bottles would still be shattered, but no fluid would have spilled on the floor, and the annoying sobbing people would be gone. It was, after all, his bar.

What he found was definitely dried alcohol on the floor behind the bar, his own bed tousled up upstairs, feathers lying around everywhere, some chairs kicked down, some sunglasses lying on the floor, and a forgotten postcard from Alpha Centauri with the text “Not thinking about you at all” scribbled on the backside.


End file.
